


Leaving California (A Stony Fic)

by GottaSaveBucky (Cosmic_Entity_1of4)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes (mentioned) - Freeform, Declarations Of Love, Feels, HFN ending, Hand Jobs, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, I think the tags have gotten out of hand, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Let's be real Everyone Needs Therapy, Literal Mentions of Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Not Canon Compliant, Not sure I've ever written so much angsty pine, Pining, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Schmoop, Seriously it's a lot of pining, Song Prompt-ish, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stony - Freeform, Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross (mentioned), Tony Angst, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony built a mansion and it's made of pine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 07:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21222773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Entity_1of4/pseuds/GottaSaveBucky
Summary: The sad, hangdog expression on Steve’s face was confusing Tony to no end. “Why are you here?”“I needed to see you,” Steve said. “I needed to try and explain what happened, and to apologize.”Tony’s arm fell to his side, the repulsor powering down, as he looked at Steve in bewilderment. The door opened wider and he stood there, watching the man in front of him. “Why would you even bother?” he asked softly.“Because it’s important that you know the truth.”Tony has escaped back to the West Coast, trying to distract himself from the pain of Steve's betrayal, only to have the man himself show up at his front door.





	Leaving California (A Stony Fic)

**Author's Note:**

> Well.
> 
> To be honest, I didn't think I would post this one. I started it over a year ago as a way to (haha) distract myself when I got blocked on my other WIPs. Almost 15k words later, I decided it was a story. If you squint a little, it could almost fit into the RYAR series I wrote under CE1-4.
> 
> Anyway, I was listening to Maroon 5, like you do, and was singing (badly, if you ask my kids) along to "Leaving California," when this idea popped into my head. So it's kind of a song prompt, really, if you're into those.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. Either way, it's out of my WIPs. XD

Tony started construction as soon as Rhodey was released from Columbia Medical Center. He dug up the old blueprints for 10880 Malibu Point and sent them on to his California architect with instructions to make everything wheelchair accessible—wider doorways, a larger elevator, lower counters in one of the guest suites, handrails where necessary, the works. Because when you have more money than God, getting things done quickly isn’t a matter of _if,_ it’s a matter of _when; _and when Tony Stark wants it done yesterday, then that’s goddamn well how it’s going to be.

Plans were updated and approved, permits were pulled, subcontractors were hired, building materials were delivered, foundations were poured, and _viol__à_—before most people could even get a surveyor out to look at their property, Tony was picking out cabinet doors and floor samples.

It was light and bright; the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean were three-and-a-half inches of crystal-clear bulletproof glass, completely retractable on warm days to let the cool sea breezes through. They were also polarized, allowing Tony and houseguests to dim any room they were in, and had privacy settings, which made them opaque from the outside, ensuring that no one could see in.

Last but not least, the windows were LED and touchscreen enabled so that Tony could bring up anything he was working on in any room of the house. Sure, it was old tech, but Tony actually liked having the traffic and weather and local news stories scrolling across the glass as he got dressed and had his coffee. He figured Rhodey would appreciate it, too.

The all-natural materials, though used in a modern design, gave the place a warm feel; lots of wood and stone and brushed steel rather than glass, polished concrete, and shiny chrome definitely brought down the flash factor and made it more welcoming, he thought. And more than anything, he wanted Rhodey to feel welcome. Tony even had the architect re-do the fireplace design so that it felt homier.

Naturally, FRIDAY was fully integrated into the house, short of anything regarding food preparation—that was still considered a fire hazard—to the point that Rhodey could have a car drive itself up from the garage and meet him at the front door.

Tony kept all of this to himself, of course, not wanting Rhodey to start with the “You didn’t need to do this for me, Tones,” nonsense that he’d been spouting since the day he was released from the hospital. Tony had brought his best friend straight from the hospital to HQ in upstate New York, having quickly made over several spare rooms into an accessible suite for him, so that he could finish recovering fully and then begin his PT.

Was he using the construction as a distraction? Something else to focus on so that he didn’t have time to think about Steve and how betrayed he felt by his defection? Damn straight, he was. He’d felt absolutely shattered after Siberia, literally and figuratively. He could lie about all sorts of feelings when it came to Steve, but he didn’t even bother trying to bullshit his way out of that one.

But, he reasoned, it was a hell of a lot better than drinking himself into oblivion all alone every night. After he’d received that letter from Steve, stuffed into a FedEx envelope with a crappy cell phone, he’d pulled a full bottle of Macallan’s eighteen-year-old Scotch whiskey out of the cabinet and set it on the table; he’d stared at that bottle for nearly half an hour before he’d gotten up and put it away again, unopened. There were nights, though, that he was sorely tempted to crack that seal.

He’d nearly caved again after getting a package from Natasha; a thick file and a DVD describing and documenting the Winter Soldier project. An instruction manual, as it were, on how to take a strong, brave, young, American man named James Buchanan Barnes and turn him into a soulless, unthinking Hydra killing machine called The Asset.

Tony had thought that his three months in Afghanistan were torture. Clearly, after watching just a few minutes of what Hydra had done to a good and decent man from Brooklyn for _seventy years,_ Tony had no idea what real torture was.

So, yes, Tony was in desperate need of a distraction from everything Steve Rogers-related. At least this way, by focusing on construction, he was doing something productive and positive with his time, something to help Rhodey; which was, without a doubt, the most important part.

The guilt he felt over Rhodey had nearly killed him during that first week. Even now, months later, he was plagued by nightmares in which he watched his best friend plummet to his death, unable to save him. He was no stranger to waking up in a cold sweat, gasping for air as the echoes of his screams faded away in the empty room; the only difference now was that he was dreaming about Rhodey’s death instead of his own.

Four months after Rhodey came to HQ, he was deemed to be doing well enough with his PT and the new exoskeleton Tony had created to start working again, so the Air Force requested that he come to Vandenberg Air Force Base to meet with some recruits. Tony immediately offered to accompany him (i.e., Tony invited himself along), and on a clear and crisp October morning, they flew across the country to California, landing at the Santa Monica Airport in the early afternoon.

Ignoring Rhodey’s questions about where they would be staying, Tony smiled all the way over the 10 Freeway to the coast, waiting until they were driving up Highway 1 toward the new house.

“We’re going home, Platypus,” he grinned, loving the look of astonishment on Rhodey’s face when the mansion came into view, cantilevered out over the cliffs above the ocean.

“What the hell?” he gasped, looking at Tony in absolute disbelief. “When did you do this?”

“There have been a lot of late-night and early-morning phone calls over the last four months to get this finished,” Tony said softly, turning the car onto the private road that led to the newly rebuilt 10880 Malibu Point. “I thought this would be a good place for both of us to get away.”

“Holy hell, Tones, you had this built in _four months?_ Does it have plumbing? Electricity?”

“It is one-hundred-percent move-in ready. The workshop still needs to be set up, but I’d rather do that myself, anyway,” Tony shrugged as the main gate opened and he drove through. “This way, any time you need to come to the coast, you have a place to stay. It’s sort of centrally located between the L.A. Base, Vandenberg, even the Channel Islands Air National Guard Station if they want you to visit.”

“Tony….”

“Don’t say it, Honey Bear, okay?” he asked quietly. “I needed to do this, for more than one reason, but the best reason of all was for you.”

They pulled into the circular drive and Tony stopped in front of the door. There were stairs leading up to the entrance, but they were flanked on either side by gently sloping ramps that were more than wide enough to accommodate a wheelchair.

Tony retrieved Rhodey’s chair from the trunk of his car and opened it, bringing it to the passenger side door. After helping his friend out of the car, he said, “Go on in, I’ll grab the bags.”

***

One of the things that Rhodey loved most about Tony was the way the man understood his need to prove himself. They had been at opposite ends of the financial spectrum when they met at MIT; Tony Stark, the son of one of the wealthiest and most brilliant men on Earth, and James Rhodes, the son of two hardworking, solidly middle-class parents from Philly. Tony could have gone to any university in the world on his father’s money, and Rhodey was there on scholarship for the Air Force.

Though Rhodey was a few years older than Tony, the two had hit it off. Tony appreciated that Rhodes treated him like he was any other guy—well, any other guy that was intelligent beyond traditional measure, was desperate for attention from his emotionally distant father, and had a self-destructive streak a mile wide. Rhodey routinely called him on his bullshit but never held a grudge, and he was always honest with Tony, never simply telling the younger man just what he wanted to hear.

Rhodes appreciated that Tony saw him for who and what he really was: hardworking, incredibly intelligent, morally upstanding, and loyal to a fault. There would always be people who looked at Rhodey and saw quotas or affirmative action or special treatment, and there wasn’t anything he could do about that. It was what he would tell the new recruits every year: There are always assholes, no matter where you go. It was just as true now as it was thirty years ago. You couldn’t let other people’s opinions or beliefs determine how you lived your life or let it affect your work. Be true to yourself, stand up for what was right, and always do your best.

Together, they had each other’s backs, and they knew that would never change, no matter what life threw at them.

So Tony brought the bags into the house while Rhodey wheeled himself through the front door, which swung open upon his approach, and started zipping around the main room. “Oh, my god, Tones! This is incredible! How did they get this done so fast?”

“Bonus incentives are a wonderful thing,” Tony joked. He motioned toward a hallway that ran past the side of the kitchen. “C’mon, let me show you your room.”

When Rhodey entered his bedroom, he realized immediately how much effort had been put into making sure every room was accessible and usable. He was able to move around easily, the closets had rotating bars that brought hanging items down to half-height, and one side of the bathroom had counters and cabinets that were all at a lower than standard height, so he could reach everything. Even the shower had a doorway wide enough to wheel a chair through.

“Tony…” Rhodey murmured, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. “I don’t know what—I mean, I can’t believe you—“

“None of that, Care Bear. I know there’ll be days when you’re gonna be tired, or the exo-suit doesn’t feel comfortable, so I wanted to be sure you could choose to use your wheels and still have access to everything.”

Rhodey nodded, blinking hard to prevent the moisture on his lashes from escaping. “Thanks, Tones. This, uh, this means a lot.”

“You’re worth it,” Tony smiled at his best friend, squeezing his shoulder.

They spent the next day starting to get Tony’s workshop together and making adjustments to Rhodey’s exo-suit, trying to make it as comfortable and functional as possible, and then they did his PT exercises. Keeping his core and upper body strong was a huge factor in wearing the high-tech prosthesis, so neither man took it lightly or slacked off.

The next day they drove up the PCH, enjoying the scenery as they made the short trip north to Vandenberg Air Force Base, where Rhodey was able to use his exo-suit to walk around as he spoke to the recruits. Tony stayed on-hand just to keep an eye on him and make sure he was doing all right.

By the end of the day, the smile on Tony’s face was genuine. Rhodey was doing just fine.

***

Rhodey stayed in Malibu for another week and a half, before duty called him to Nebraska. Tony begged off that trip, telling him that he wanted to finish getting his workshop set up. He took Rhodey to the airport and put him on the plane, telling him that the plane would stay there, with him, ready to bring him back to Malibu or take him anywhere else he needed to be.

“I’ll be here, tinkering, until you’re ready to go,” Tony assured his friend, not really looking forward to being alone in the mansion. Even with FRIDAY there, reminding him to eat and sleep, it wasn’t a substitute for actual human companionship.

So he really shouldn’t have been all that surprised when Steve showed up at his front door less than a day later.

***

“Boss, there’s someone walking up the drive.”

“Hmm?” Tony hummed, working a socket wrench to tighten the bolt on his industrial shelving. There was no such thing as too much storage space.

“A rather large man is approaching your front door,” FRIDAY said sternly.

“A large man?” Tony asked, frowning in confusion. “Any idea who it is?”

“It appears to be Captain Rogers.”

Tony’s head snapped up, suddenly very alert. “It _appears_ to be Cap? How are you not sure?”

“I’m ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-seven-percent positive that it’s Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY said. “He’s altered his appearance somewhat.”

Tony dropped his wrench and brought up a holographic screen that showed the security feed from the front door. Sure enough, there was Steve Rogers, standing on his doorstep with a duffel bag in his hand, slumped shoulders, longer-than-usual hair…and a beard.

His heart started pounding, and not in the good way that it used to when he looked at Steve. No, this was the ‘fight-or-flight’ response kicking in and flooding his system with adrenaline.

“Wait for my word,” Tony said, grabbing a repulsor gauntlet off a workbench and slapping it onto his right hand, heading quickly toward the stairs that led up to the main floor. He approached the front door on his tiptoes, sliding along the wall until he reached the door. He glanced at the security screen there and saw that the big blond man hadn’t moved. “Intercom on, FRIDAY.”

“This is a bit of a surprise, Cap,” Tony said, speaking clearly so that Steve would understand him. He watched the screen as Steve looked up in surprise, searching for the source of Tony’s voice. “I definitely wasn’t expecting a visit from you anytime soon.”

“Hey, Tony,” the man on the other side of the door responded, sounding just as tired as he looked. “Sorry about dropping by unannounced like this. I was…I was hoping we could talk.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, I am,” Steve nodded. “I swear.”

Tony cracked open the door, immediately bringing his right hand up and aiming the repulsor at Steve’s chest. He was wearing civilian clothes; sneakers, snug and faded blue jeans, one of his too-tight white t-shirts, and a brown leather jacket. Definitely not dressed for a fight, not that that would stop him.

“Talk? You want to talk? Go ahead.”

The corners of Steve’s lips drooped at the sight of the weapon in Tony’s hand. “Hi,” he sighed. He swallowed hard and said, “I don’t blame you for being angry—“

“That’s awfully big of you.”

Steve’s brow furrowed as it became clear that this was going to be even harder than he had feared. “I am so sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”

Tony huffed cynically. “Don’t you mean you didn’t want _Barnes_ to get hurt?”

“I never wanted to hurt you, either.”

The sad, hangdog expression on Steve’s face was confusing Tony to no end. “Why are you here?”

“I needed to see you,” Steve said. “I needed to try and explain what happened, and to apologize.”

Tony’s arm fell to his side, the repulsor powering down, as he looked at Steve in bewilderment. The door opened wider and he stood there, watching the man in front of him. “Why would you even bother?” he asked softly.

“Because it’s important that you know the truth.”

***

“How did you know where to find me?”

Steve followed him inside, leaving his duffel bag by the door. He had no idea if Tony was going to kick him out as soon as he said his piece, but he certainly wasn’t going to assume that he would be welcome for more than a few minutes.

Tony walked backward, moving further into the main room, keeping Steve in front of him the whole time. Steve couldn’t help but notice that although Tony had powered down the gauntlet, he hadn’t taken it off. _Why should he?_ Steve thought to himself. _He has every reason not to trust me._

Steve shrugged a little sheepishly. “Nat,” he said simply.

Tony huffed a laugh that sounded almost bitter. “So you want me to know the truth, huh?” he asked, taking a seat on one of the sofas; the one closest to the elevator and stairs that would take him down to the workshop, the one that also allowed him to keep Steve in full view. “The truth about what, exactly?”

“May I?” Steve asked, gesturing to another couch, the one that faced Tony head-on. When the brunet nodded, just a brief, sharp dip of his goateed chin, Steve took a very careful seat on the edge of the cushion. Once he was seated, he brought his gaze up to Tony’s face, and then he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

Steve’s hands were clasped together, his elbows on his knees. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, soothing almost, a rumbling tenor floating across the chasm between them. “I am so sorry, Tony. Everything that’s happened since—well, since D.C., really—has been a complete and utter screw-up on my part. I allowed my own feelings of inadequacy to dictate my course of action, and you were the one that paid the price for it.

“I felt like I had to try so hard to make up for every mistake, had to compensate for every shortcoming, and instead I made a mess of everything—Bucharest, Berlin, Siberia, all of that is on me.

“After D.C., I’ve had a lot of trouble trusting any part of the government or any government agency.” He shook his head, clearly discouraged. “After Ross dropped the Accords on us, I felt even more…paranoid, I guess, that there were other forces at work, things going on behind the scenes that were being kept from us. Considering Ross’ history of trying to replicate Project Rebirth, I think you might understand a little of my hesitation to trust anything he’s involved with.”

Tony gave Steve the benefit of the doubt on that one; a little head-tilt and a quirked eyebrow seemed to say, _Yeah, you’ve got a point there,_ but otherwise he remained silent.

Steve continued. “None of this excuses the fact that I didn’t trust my team; that I took Sam and Wanda and dragged Clint into this mess or—“

“Who was the other guy?” Tony interrupted. “Mister-Honey-I-Shrunk-Then-Blew-Up-the-Kids?”

Steve frowned a bit in confusion, clearly not understanding the reference, but at least knowing whom Tony was talking about. “His name is Scott Lang. Sam knew him from somewhere.”

“He mentioned Hank Pym,” Tony murmured, looking over Steve’s shoulder for a moment. “Dad worked with Pym, way back when, during his S.H.I.E.L.D. days.”

Steve nodded, knowing a little about Tony’s tumultuous relationship with Howard. To say that Steve was disappointed in the kind of father Howard had turned out to be was an understatement. He had seen the results daily when he and Tony had lived in the Tower and at HQ, as Tony strove for perfection in everything he did, never able to settle for ‘good enough.’ Steve had once told Sam that it was exhausting for him to watch; he couldn’t imagine how tiring it must be for Tony to live that way. Sam had laughed in his face.

“Dude,” he’d said, “you and Tony are two sides of the same coin.” At Steve’s furrowed brow, Sam had rolled his eyes. “You take every mission loss as a personal failure, like there is some way that you can prevent any and every bad thing that is ever going to happen if you just plan enough.”

When Steve opened his mouth to argue, Sam waggled his finger and said, “Uh-uh, you know it’s true. Doesn’t matter how many times we tell you that sometimes shit just goes sideways, you always tell yourself that _you_ will do better next time.” He shook his head. “You don’t cut yourself any slack, ever. You can’t see the future and you can’t stop all the bad people in the world from doing bad things, but you insist on trying to be perfect and then you slam yourself when you’re not. It’s not healthy, man—not for Tony, and not for you, either.”

Steve knew that Sam was right—about certain things, anyway—but he couldn’t help feeling that Tony deserved compassion far more than he did. After all, Tony hadn’t asked to be born a Stark, hadn’t asked to have Howard for a father, had done nothing to warrant the awful way Howard had treated him. He had grown up being told repeatedly that his best would never be enough, and that he was a disappointment to everyone that mattered to him.

Steve, on the other hand, had willingly signed up for everything that had happened to him, and he knew in his heart that he could always do better, _be_ better, if only he was faster, stronger, and smarter than the bad guys. That was why he’d been chosen, after all, wasn’t it?

“No, it wasn’t,” Sam said flatly. “There were plenty of guys to choose from who were faster and stronger than you, and the serum would have amplified that. He could have put Howard Stark in there if he wanted someone super-brilliant. Doctor Erskine chose you because you’re a good man—a good man, with a good head on your shoulders and a kind heart. Someone who would always help people because it was the right thing to do, not because it would benefit you in some way.”

Sam had looked at him so kindly. “The flip side of that is that you take everything so personally; every mistake, every loss—you think it’s all because of you, that it’s all under your control, and it’s just not. You can’t take all that weight on your shoulders, and you sure as hell won’t convince Tony to forgive himself for not being perfect if you’re not willing to do the same for yourself.”

So now here Steve was, looking at Tony—seeing the man who had saved millions of people from annihilation, who, Steve could tell from looking around, had spent who-knows-how-much-money without batting an eyelash just so Rhodey would have a comfortable place to stay—and he saw a man who truly believed that he wasn’t worthy of love because he wasn’t perfect.

And that was absolutely unacceptable.

“I should have talked to you,” Steve said quietly, trying to catch Tony’s eyes again. “I should have told you what I was thinking and feeling, rather than deciding that I needed to figure everything out by myself. Frankly,” he admitted, “ as soon as I found out Bucky was still alive, I was compromised. Completely.”

“I understand that getting your BBFF back was your top priority,” Tony shrugged, refusing to let Steve see how much hearing about Barnes hurt him.

“My…what? What’s a ‘BBFF’?” Steve asked, confused.

“Best Boyfriend Forever,” Tony said casually, getting up to wander into the kitchen. “Your significant other, your plus-one, better half, best fellas, whatever you forties boys call each other. You want something to drink?” he asked, desperate to steer the subject away from the man that Steve had chosen over the Avengers—that Steve had chosen over Tony.

He removed the gauntlet from his hand, setting in on the island that separated the kitchen from the living area; he still kept it within reach, though, as he opened the refrigerator and took out a couple bottles of water.

Steve stood and walked slowly around the back of the sofa, then leaned against it, keeping a decent amount of space in between the two of them. He didn’t want to spook Tony into putting the gauntlet back on.

Without waiting for an answer, Tony tossed one of the water bottles in his direction; Steve caught it one-handed and opened it, taking a long drink. “Thank you,” he said, watching as Tony took a sip from his own bottle, his eyes following he bobbing of the smaller man’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“Sure,” Tony rasped out before clearing his throat.

“So, like I was saying, I was compromised. I’d spent two years trying to find Bucky, only to have Zemo force our hand,” Steve continued. “I couldn’t accept even the possibility that Bucky could spend the rest of his life in prison, not after everything he’d already been through.” He looked down at his feet as he fiddled with the bottle cap in his hand. “I’d already failed him once; I had to make sure he was safe.”

“Is he safe now?” Tony asked. “And by that, I mean ‘Is he somewhere safe.’ Because I’m sure we can both agree that your murder muffin will never be harmless.”

“Bucky is…being taken care of,” Steve said, choosing to ignore Tony’s jibes. “He’s getting help.”

“And you’re not going to tell me where he is, are you?”

“I think having plausible deniability is in your best interest,” Steve said softly, “just in case Ross comes sniffing around again. Bucky’s not the only one of our mutual acquaintances that he’s after, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Tony snorted. “He’s still plenty pissed about that stunt you pulled.”

Steve quirked a skeptical eyebrow at the brunet. “Not sure if I’d call a prison break a ‘stunt.’”

“Well, whatever you wanna call it,” Tony smirked, “Ross ain’t gonna forget about it anytime soon.”

“It’s not causing problems for you, is it?” Steve asked, concern furrowing his brow.

Tony shook his head, taking another sip of water. “Ross is under the reasonable assumption that you and I aren’t on speaking terms,” he replied flatly.

“Right,” Steve murmured, his eyes dropping. They were quiet for a few moments before he added, “I would like to change that.”

“Change what?” Tony asked, tilting his head questioningly.

“I want to be on speaking terms with you,” Steve said, bringing his gaze back up to meet Tony’s. “I want to fix this.”

“Why?” Tony barked, getting angry now. “Why do you care? You have the rest of the team—Rhodey and I are all that’s left at HQ, everyone else is gone. Even Vision is gone.”

“You deserved better than this,” Steve said, shaking his head. “We owe you so much, and I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Tony shrugged cynically. “It’s not the first time I’ve been dumped, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I’ve been there before and gotten through it just fine. Besides,” he said, picking up the gauntlet and pushing away from the kitchen island; he gestured to the room around him, “it’s not such a bad place to get left behind.”

He started to walk through the living room, moving past Steve and heading toward the stairs that would take him back down to his workshop.

“Feel free to hang out if you’d like,” he said offhandedly. Pointing casually down the hallway behind him, he said, “You can take any room except the last one on the left, that’s Rhodey’s room. I’ll be in the workshop.”

***

Steve didn’t intrude; he let Tony be while he worked, not wanting to anger or upset him any further. He took solace in the fact that he hadn’t kicked Steve out; had, in fact, invited him to stay, even if the invitation was tossed out over his shoulder with a decidedly measured carelessness as he walked away. The only time he even asked FRIDAY about the genius was when he making dinner. “Do you think Tony will eat if I take a plate down to him?” he asked the A.I.

“Boss has already eaten,” she told him.

Steve nodded. “Oh, okay. Thank you, FRIDAY,” he said quietly.

“Not that I consider kale-and-protein-powder smoothies to be adequate nutrition,” the A.I. continued, “but he has already stopped for sustenance once this evening, and I know I won’t be able to convince him to stop again.”

“What time does he normally eat—or drink, I guess?” Steve asked as he plated up several chicken breasts.

“If you would like to provide him with actual meals, rather than that pungent green sludge, I will certainly assist you.”

Steve huffed a laugh, a little smile coming to his face. “I’ll do my best, FRIDAY.”

“I’ve sent you a list of Boss’s favorite foods and approximate meal times,” she said.

“Thank you.”

***

Steve took eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee down to the lab the next morning. Tony had enacted Privacy Protocol, which meant that Steve couldn’t see through the opaque glass walls at the bottom of the stairs. FRIDAY assured Steve that Tony was awake and working, and that he hadn’t eaten yet.

“Can you let him know that there’s a tray outside the door for him?” Steve asked, setting the hot meal down where Tony would see it—but not step on it—if he decided to come out of the workshop.

“I will, Captain Rogers,” the A.I. replied.

An hour later, FRIDAY informed Steve that Tony had decided against eating the food on the tray and had made himself another protein-powder shake. “He can’t live on those things,” Steve murmured, frowning.

“If it makes you feel any better, he added bananas and strawberries this time,” FRIDAY said.

“That’s something, at least,” he replied.

He tried, several more times, to bring Tony food, but each time his offer was rejected. “Is Tony not eating because I’m here?” Steve asked FRIDAY in desperation. “I’ll leave if that’s what he needs—“

“Blueberry waffles,” FRIDAY said.

“Blueberry waffles?”

“He absolutely cannot resist blueberry waffles with extra crispy bacon crumbled on top.”

“I’m on it.”

The next morning, a plate of hot, fluffy, blueberry waffles, liberally sprinkled with crispy bacon crumbles, along with syrup, juice, and coffee, was left outside Tony’s lab. FRIDAY happily informed Steve that Tony had brought the tray inside and was eating it. “He is consuming it as if it is the first real food he has seen in days, which it is,” the A.I. told him.

By the end of the next day, Tony came upstairs just as Steve finished preparing cheeseburgers. “FRIDAY has obviously teamed up with you to lure me from my lab,” he said grumpily. “All my favorite foods? That’s not even subtle.”

“I’m just glad you’re eating,” Steve said softly.

“I eat,” Tony defended himself.

“Liquid grass is not real food,” FRIDAY interjected.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Tony asked his A.I.

“The side that keeps you healthy and operating at full capacity,” the Irish-voiced intelligence snarked right back at him.

Tony gave the ceiling a faux-annoyed look before sitting at the kitchen island and picking up his burger. He took a big bite and chewed thoughtfully. “This is actually pretty good,” he admitted after swallowing. “I was under the impression that you could burn water. When did you learn how to cook?”

“Turns out the internet is very helpful,” Steve gave him a little smile. “There are some cooking sites that demonstrate how to do everything.” He took a sip of water. “Nat made it clear that she would mix cocktails, but she would not cook. Sam likes to cook, but it wasn’t fair to put that on him all the time, especially since I eat three times as much as he does.”

“Fairness is a big thing with you, isn’t it?” Tony asked, tilting his head to the side. “Injustice really irks the hell out of you.”

“Of course, it is,” Steve said, his brow furrowed slightly. “It matters to you, too.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Tony smirked, putting his hands up, “I think fairness is great. I’m also extremely aware that it’s rare as hell. In this world, justice is a concept usually reserved for the people who can afford it.”

“That sounds pretty cynical, Tony.”

“It’s realistic, Steve.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“No one ever said life was fair, Rogers.”

***

“Can I ask how Rhodes is doing?” Steve asked one day as they had lunch.

He’d been at the mansion for nearly five days, and he and Tony had only shared maybe half a dozen meals together. Their interactions were up and down; Tony wavered between being cautiously friendly and decidedly wary. Steve never knew what to expect when Tony wandered through, so he tried to be as open as possible just in case the genius felt like talking.

On this afternoon, Tony had traipsed through the living room, humming to himself, as Steve fixed them a lunch of thick turkey sandwiches. “I kind of like having a personal chef in the house,” he’d mused good-naturedly as they took their seats at the dining room table.

At Steve’s question, Tony paused, looking at him pensively for a few moments before nodding. “He’s doing well, all things considered,” he answered honestly. “His PT is coming along and the exo-suit we’ve been working on has proven to be a viable solution.”

“He’s back at work, then? With the military?”

Tony shook his head. “I can’t really talk to you about that.”

“Do you think he’ll keep working with the Avengers?”

“I definitely won’t talk to you about that,” Tony said resolutely, dropping both hands to the table. He frowned at Steve. “Is that why you’re really here? To get information? Trying to figure out who’s going to be looking for you? Should I just call Ross right now and let him know where you are?”

“No, Tony,” Steve pleaded, “it’s not like that, I swear.”

“Then why all the questions?”

“Rhodes is your friend, your best and oldest friend, and I know how much you care about him; hell, you built this whole house to accommodate him,” Steve gestured around them. “My interest in him is purely about his wellbeing, I promise.”

Tony stared at Steve for a few seconds, unblinking, before he reiterated, “He’s doing well. I won’t talk about his work.”

Steve nodded. “I understand. I’m glad he’s alright and that he can be here with you.”

Tony sat silently for a few more seconds, just looking at nothing, before he pushed his chair back. “I’ll be in my workshop.”

“Tony, wait—“

He held up a hand, stopping Steve before he could get started on whatever he was going to say. “I understand what you’re saying, Steve. I just need to not hear your voice right now, okay?” He looked at the table and then picked up his plate. “I’m taking this. It’s a good sandwich.”

Steve smiled sadly at Tony’s retreating back, wondering if he would ever get it right.

He wouldn’t see Tony again for almost two solid days.

***

Steve exercised, cooked, and read. He watched the news, ignoring stories about himself and the ongoing manhunt to catch him and his friends. He watched for patterns in areas of unrest, wondering if—or when, really—Hydra would rear its ugly head again.

He was exhausted to the very marrow of his bones, but he couldn’t sleep. Not for long, anyway; catnaps here and there, that was all. There was so much he had to fix, to make right, that it invaded his subconscious and interrupted his rest, leading him to rise every day well before the sun even considered making an appearance.

FRIDAY gave him regular updates on Tony’s wellbeing. He was eating at least some of the food that Steve set out for him, but he wasn’t sleeping much, either. According to FRIDAY, though, that wasn’t terribly unusual. He was more agitated than she had seen him in a while, however, which was concerning.

It was a little after six a.m. on Sunday morning when Tony finally came upstairs, leaving the workshop after nearly forty-eight straight hours, so depending on your perspective, it was either really early or _really_ late. Steve was sitting on the sofa, facing the curving staircase, when he trudged up the steps, looking spent.

He stopped when he caught sight of the big blond. Sighing heavily, he asked, “Just getting up?”

“No,” Steve said quietly. “I’ve been up for a couple of hours, went for a run. Just got back a little while ago.”

“A quick and easy marathon before breakfast?” Tony smirked. He wandered past the living room, walking into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. He picked up the milk and drank straight from the carton.

Steve was walking slowly toward him, hands in his pockets, and raised an eyebrow.

“My kitchen, my rules,” Tony quipped, shutting the carton with a _snap._

Steve tipped his head to the side and quirked his eyebrows as if to say, _Yeah, not gonna argue with that._ “Are you going to get some sleep now?” he asked softly.

“Haven’t decided yet,” Tony responded, putting the carton back in the refrigerator and shutting the door.

Steve’s shoulders slumped, looking at the dark shadows under the brunet’s eyes. “You need to get some rest, Tony.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” he said through nearly clenched teeth.

Steve held his hands up apologetically. “I’m sorry, Tony, I’m not trying to tell you what to do.” He put his hands back in his pockets. “I’m just worried about you.”

“_Now_ you’re worried about me,” Tony laughed joylessly. “You weren’t all that worried when you left me in Siberia in a powerless suit, were you?”

“We—I—“ Steve took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. “I knew you would be okay. We left the quinjet for you, so you wouldn’t be stranded.”

“Did you?” Tony scoffed. “Did you _know_ I would be okay? You left me there with broken ribs—or did you conveniently forget that _you_ were the one who broke them with your—with my dad’s—with _that_ shield?” At Steve’s frown, he continued. “I could hardly breathe from the chest plate being smashed in. The power core? Of my suit? Synthesized vibranium—it didn’t break. You nearly cracked my artificial sternum with it.”

Steve paled, his eyes widening. “Oh, oh, god, Tony, I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t know—“

“Of course you didn’t know,” Tony said. “Because you left me there.” He came around the kitchen island and poked a hard finger into Steve’s chest. It was like poking a brick wall. “You _left_ me there so that you could go off and play house with the man who murdered my parents.”

“It wasn’t like that, Tony,” Steve said softly. “I panicked. I thought you were going to kill him.”

“God forbid,” Tony scowled. He shook his head. “All of this could have been avoided, you know, if you’d told me the truth from the beginning. None of this would have happened.”

“I know,” Steve nodded minutely. “I just…I didn’t know how to explain it.”

“The facts would have been nice,” he said flatly.

“It’s not that simple, Tony. There was a lot that I wasn’t sure of—“ he began.

“Stop with the excuses, Steve,” Tony finally said, sounding and feeling just exhausted. “The bottom line is, you didn’t trust me. You knew for _two years_ and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”

“I didn’t know _how_ to tell you! How was I supposed to say, ‘I’m really sorry, Tony, but your parents might have been murdered by my Hydra-brainwashed, supposedly dead best friend’?”

“That sentence, right there, would have been a good start,” Tony smiled bitterly.

“Really?” Steve asked, incredulous. “I was supposed to dump that on you? To make the memory of what was—I’m assuming—the worst night of your life even worse when I didn’t even know if it was the truth? Did you really think it would be that easy for me?”

“I thought that I could trust you to be honest with me!” Tony shouted. “You’ve always called me out on my bullshit before, always given me your real, unbiased opinion when you’ve disagreed with me, always told me the truth even when I didn’t want to hear it—why was this any different?”

“It just was!”

_“Why?”_

“Because I love you and I didn’t want to hurt you!”

For several seconds there was total silence.

Tony stopped short, shaking his head and blinking several times. “Um, I’m sorry,” he said, his brow furrowed in confusion, “what did you just say?”

Steve stood, unmoving, a look of utter desolation on his face. “Because I love you, Tony,” he whispered. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being the person that caused you that much pain.”

Tony just looked at him, utterly perplexed. “What about Barnes?” he asked, giving voice to the first question that popped into his head.

Steve shook his head. “It was never like that with us. He knew I was bisexual, he kept my secret, but I’ve always seen him as a brother.” Steve looked at the floor before bringing his gaze back up to meet the brunet’s liquid, warm-whiskey-colored eyes. “The only man I’ve ever felt _this_ way about…is you.”

“That’s—that’s, uh,” Tony stammered, scratching the back of his head as his face screwed up into an expression of total bewilderment. He huffed a laugh. “That’s pretty funny, actually.”

“It’s funny that I love you?” Steve asked, a pained look crossing his features.

“It’s _funny_ that you say you love me and that you didn’t want to hurt me, but by lying to me, you’ve hurt me more than anyone else _ever_ has—and I managed to survive Howard’s A-plus parenting,” Tony sneered.

“Tony,” Steve sighed.

_“No!”_ Tony yelled. “I am sick _to death_ of people swearing that the only reason they’ve hurt me is because they love me!” He started to back away. “Is it me? Am I doing something that causes everyone around me to think inflicting pain on me is the best way to show affection? Because I am done, Cap. Completely, fucking _done._”

He turned and walked out, heading down the hallway to his room, and a few seconds later Steve heard a door slam.

***

Once Tony reached his room, anything resembling composure fell away, leaving him a pacing, mumbling mess. He pulled at his hair, kicked at the furniture, and screamed into his pillow; in short, he had a full-on temper tantrum meltdown. He knew it wasn’t productive, but it helped get the rush of adrenaline out of his system without hurting anyone—or himself.

Who the fuck did Rogers think he was, dropping that bombshell on him? What was he expecting—for Tony to leap into his arms with joy? To simply forget everything he had done? Tony was willing to forgive a lot, but this was beyond forgiveness.

Was Rogers even telling the truth? What if all of this was nothing more than a ploy to get Tony to help him and his little band of defectors? It didn’t seem like something Rogers would do, but Tony couldn’t be sure anymore that he even knew the man.

He had no idea what to do.

He sat on the end of his bed and looked around, just trying to breathe deeply and calm himself. He ran his hands over the soft duvet cover, curled his toes into the nap of the carpet, and looked out the window at the terrace that sat above the cliffs. The potted plants outside swayed gently in the ocean breeze.

He closed his eyes, fatigue crashing over him; not sleeping for a couple of days was catching up to him. He drew his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and saw a text message from Rhodey from several hours earlier.

_SugarBear: How’s it going, Tones? I’m wrapping up here._

Tony’s head fell forward, taking a few breaths before typing a response.

_TonyToniTones: You available to chat? I need to talk._

He sat the phone down, deciding to brush his teeth—which felt rather fuzzy—and take a shower before going to sleep. He was yawning as he dried off and got dressed in soft pants and a clean t-shirt. He was just pulling the covers up to his chest and laying his head down when the phone buzzed on his nightstand. Checking the caller ID just in case, he pressed the green icon to answer.

“Hey, Platypus,” he sighed tiredly. He pressed the ‘Speaker’ icon and set it on the pillow next to him. “Thanks for calling.”

“What’s going on, man?” Rhodey asked, the concern clear in his voice.

“Jesus,” Tony huffed a laugh. “Where do I even start?”

As well as he could, Tony filled Rhodey in on everything that had happened since Steve had shown up on his doorstep a week earlier, wrapping up with, “—and now he says that he loves me; that he’s _in love_ with me. Like, what the hell am I supposed to do with that? He’s got to be bullshitting me, right?”

“Whoa,” Rhodey mumbled, blowing out a big breath. “That’s some pretty intense stuff there, Tones. I wish I was there to help you out.”

“You can’t,” Tony said, rubbing at his eyes. “I won’t put you in a position that you have to lie to Ross. If you don’t see Steve, he can’t accuse you of anything.”

“What about you? Can you lie to Ross?”

“Without even feeling bad about it,” Tony responded with a wry smile. “But back to Rogers—do you think he’s yanking my chain?”

“As pissed off as I am at him right now,” Rhodey said, “I can say with full confidence that Steve is a crap liar who wouldn’t tell you something like that just for shits and giggles. He tends to act before he thinks things out, but he’s not cruel.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Tony sighed. “It would be so much easier if you thought he was lying.”

“I know you’ve had feelings for him, Tones—“

“Who told you that?”

Rhodey chuckled. “I’m your best friend, dumbass, no one had to tell me. Just…don’t do anything while you’re angry, okay? Give yourself some time to think. Get some sleep, have something to eat, go tinker, and let your mind just wander a little. You owe yourself that.”

“Thanks, Sourpatch,” Tony murmured. “I’ll do that.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Love you, Honeybear.”

“I love you, too, Boo Boo.”

***

“Oh, god, Nat. He hates me.”

“Calm down, Steve. What did you tell him, exactly?”

“I blew it, Nat. I blew it so bad. He’s never going to forgive me after this.”

_“Steve—“_

The big blond was pacing rapidly back and forth, his breathing labored and rapid, as if he’d reverted to his pre-serum respiratory system. His ribcage was squeezing him; his lungs felt small inside his chest as they struggled to fill with air. He heard Nat mumble something and then Sam was on the line.

“Steve, listen to me. I need you to breathe. You’ve having an anxiety attack. Inhale through your nose and count with me—one, two, three, four, now hold it for two—and exhale out your mouth, five, four, three, two, one. Now let’s do that again.”

This continued for another couple of minutes until Steve was able to get himself under control. He sat on the edge of the bed with an elbow on his knee, propping up his head. “Sorry, Sam,” he finally managed to utter.

“It’s alright, Steve, you know that.”

“I don’t know if anything will be alright after this, Sam.”

“It will be, Steve. Just tell me what happened.”

After filling Sam in on his version of what happened—Sam knew to disregard the numerous adjectives aimed at self-loathing—Steve flopped back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. “He hates me, Sam. Even more than he did before.”

“This is a bit of a setback, that’s true,” Sam agreed, hearing the cynical huff of laughter on the other end of the line, “but don’t give up yet. Tony’s a bit of a hothead, we all know that. Give him some time, let him think about what you’ve said for a day or two, and then talk to him again.”

“I’ve hurt him so bad, Sam,” Steve whispered, closing his eyes as tears pricked. “I’m not even sure I deserve another chance.”

“You love him, Steve. Circumstances haven’t been kind to either of you. Don’t push him, and maybe you can still turn this around.”

“Steve,” Nat was suddenly on the phone.

“Yeah, Nat?” Steve sighed.

“You know we only want the best for you,” she said quietly.

“But?” There was always a _but._

“But you need to consider that trying to get involved with Tony right now might not be the best choice for either of you.”

“I’m not trying to _get_ involved, Nat,” Steve gritted out. “I’m already involved. I just need him to know the truth.”

“The truth? That’s all?” she asked, her voice oozing with skepticism. “Are you sure you’re not hoping for anything more?”

“Despite what you think, I’m not really an idiot.”

“You’re in love, Steve, of course you’re an idiot.”

Steve sighed again. “If I need a pick-up, how soon can you be here?”

“Two hours,” Nat said. “Just wait at the end of the drive where I dropped you off.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Good luck, Steve. I mean that.”

“I know you do.”

***

It was quiet for the rest of the day, Steve going out of his way to not disturb Tony and hoping that the genius was actually resting. He didn’t want to ask FRIDAY, feeling at this point that it was invading Tony’s privacy to check in on him.

Feeling that he really should prepare for the worst, Steve packed up his things. He made a mental note of the toiletries he needed to restock, not having used anything that Tony’s guest bath provided. Hell, he felt guilty enough using Tony’s laundry facilities to wash his clothes. If everything went as poorly as Steve expected at this point, at least he would be able to leave quickly.

For Tony’s part, he spent his time sleeping, working, eating, and thinking, in that order, and then repeating the cycle. His anger had burned out sometime during the night, leaving him with a profound sense of loss. If only circumstances had been different, if only the Accords weren’t driving a wedge between friends, if only, if only, if only….

Late the following night, Tony was sitting on the couch, watching the flames dance in the fireplace when Steve walked in. Steve glanced at the large glass of amber liquid in Tony’s hand before looking at his eyes, perhaps trying to gauge how inebriated he was.

Tony snorted and rolled his eyes. “No, Cap, you haven’t driven me back to drink. Not yet, anyway. This is just iced tea.” He pointed backward, toward the kitchen. “There’s a pitcher in the fridge if you want.”

“Maybe later.”

“Suit yourself,” Tony shrugged, taking a sip from his glass. He didn’t look over as Steve sat at the other end of the sofa, his hands clasping his cell phone in his lap. He also didn’t look over when Steve started speaking.

“We need to talk,” the blond said softly.

“About what?” Tony asked, resolutely watching the flames.

“I think it’s probably best that I should go.”

Tony took a slow, deep breath and swallowed. “Go where?”

“I talked to Natasha, she can pick me up. Probably head back east, and then…I don’t know. Shouldn’t say where, anyway, ‘cause, y’know—”

“Plausible deniability, right,” Tony nodded. After a few seconds of staring at his glass, he asked, “Is that what you want?”

“No, of course it’s not what I want. But I also don’t want to be the cause of any more pain for you.” Steve watched Tony’s profile, looking for any hint or clue of what he was thinking. “I’ve made so many mistakes and screwed everything up so bad between us, and I just…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“What?” Tony asked, finally looking at him. “You just what?”

“I would rather you be happy without me here, than be unhappy _because_ I’m here.”

Tony set his drink down carefully on a side table, very clearly aiming for the exact center of the coaster placed there, a sad smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You have no idea….”

“About what?” Steve asked, frowning.

“All that time we were living in the Tower, at HQ, going on missions together,” he murmured, “I would have given…pretty much _anything_ to hear you say that you wanted to be with me.”

“Really?” Steve asked with no small amount of surprise. “I didn’t think you cared, or thought about me that way, or were even remotely interested. I mean, you were with Pepper, and—and you were always making fun of me.”

“Teasing you, Cap,” Tony shrugged defeatedly. “Pullin’ your pigtails to get your attention.” He tilted his head to the side. “And as for Pepper, there’s a reason she left.” He looked Steve fully in the eye. “It was never just about the suits.”

“Oh?” Steve asked, trying not to get his hopes up at all.

“I didn’t want to give them up,” Tony admitted, “but even more than that, I didn’t want to give _you_ up.”

“Tony,” Steve sighed. He began to lean toward the brunet, but Tony leapt off the couch and out of his reach.

“No,” he said, shaking his head emphatically. “I can’t—I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Steve asked softly, setting his phone on the couch cushion and getting to his feet very slowly, hoping he wouldn’t scare Tony away.

“I can’t let myself—I can’t get my hopes up about you,” Tony said, shaking his head. His fists were clenched at his side and he was shaking. “I can’t let you break my heart again.”

“I don’t want to,” Steve whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you, Tony. I—fuck, I just love you.”

It was, perhaps, Steve’s use of profanity more than anything else that stopped Tony in his tracks. “My goodness,” he chuckled breathlessly, batting his eyelashes and splaying his fingers over his heart, “don’t tell me that I’ve actually driven you to cursing. How shocking.”

“Only you can make me this crazy,” he replied with a wistful smile. “Pretty sure you could drive me to do a whole lot more than just cursing, though.”

“Yeah?” Tony tilted his head slightly to the side, and watched how Steve’s eyes were drawn to the long line of his neck. “What could I possibly drive you to do?”

“Sweetheart,” Steve murmured, taking a slow step forward, then another, “you could get me to do anything you wanted. All you have to do is ask.”

“Would you lie for me?” Tony took a step toward the big blond, closing the distance between them to only a couple of feet. When Steve nodded, Tony asked, “Would you steal for me?”

“Anything you wanted, doll, just name it.”

“Would you give up Barnes for me?”

“Tony,“ Steve sighed, “I’ll keep telling you if that’s what it takes, but Bucky and I aren’t together, not like that. Never have been, never will be.”

“So where is he now?”

“He chose…” Steve swallowed hard, “he chose to go back into cryo. He’s asleep.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere safe, far from here.”

Tony nodded. “And you’re not here just because he’s unavailable? Tryin’ to make time with me until Sleeping Beauty wakes up?”

“Never, Tony,” Steve whispered, shaking his head. “I would never do that to you.”

Tony stared him straight in the eyes. “Tell me again why you’re here.”

“I love you, Tony. I love you so much.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Tony took two steps forward and reached up to slide both hands into Steve’s soft blond hair, pulling him down into a hard, brutal kiss that took both of their breath away. Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and pulled him close, hoisting the smaller man gently up against his chest.

Tony moaned; it was a high-pitched, desperate sound, full of want and uncertainty. The feel of Steve’s beard, softer than he’d thought it would be, added a new dimension to the fantasies he’d had of the super-soldier over the years. His mouth was soft and warm, his lips both plush and firm; Tony couldn’t help but suck Steve’s generous bottom lip between his teeth, letting it slowly drag free.

Steve brought a hand up to cradle the back of Tony’s head, weaving his fingers through the short, wavy locks, and responded with a deep, soothing hum. “Mmm,” he sighed against Tony’s lips, “you taste even better than I imagined.”

Two giant hands slid down Tony’s back, over the curve of his ass, down to his thighs, and then lifted, carefully guiding the smaller man’s legs apart before Steve turned and sat on the sofa with the brunet in his lap, straddling his thighs. He then encircled Tony’s entire body with his arms and pulled him in snugly, groaning as the genius leaned into him, draping his arms around his neck and shoulders and settling his weight right down on Steve’s crotch.

“Aww, Stevie,” Tony teased, murmuring the words against the blond man’s red, kiss-swollen lips, “I think you like me.” He wriggled his hips, feeling the rather significant bulge in Steve’s jeans. “Sure feels like you do.”

“Oh, god, Tony,” Steve sighed, ducking his head slightly to nibble at the other man’s delicate, stubble-covered jawline, “I like everything about you.”

“Let’s not get carried away here,” Tony huffed a laugh, his head tipped just slightly back and to the side. “I’m positive there are quite a few things that you would change about me.”

That stopped Steve cold. He pulled back and looked Tony straight in the eyes. “No, Tony, I wouldn’t,” he said softly, bringing a hand up to cup the brunet’s cheek. “I fell in love with _you,_ not some idea of what I could change you into. You’re feisty, loud, crass, obnoxious, sarcastic—“

“Yeah, I sound like a real catch,” the smaller man mumbled, his face falling a bit.

Steve swatted him lightly on the backside, grinning when Tony jumped and made a little noise that sounded like _“Ooh!”_ “You’re stubborn, a total smartass, you’re brilliant, you’re adorable, you’re beautiful, you’re loyal, and you love with your whole heart.” He kissed him softly, stroking over Tony’s cheek with his thumb. “The only thing I wish I could change is how you see yourself.”

“It’s tough to fight a lifetime of conditioning,” Tony said, pursing his lips and shrugging. “It’s easy to believe something when you hear it every day.”

“Well, then,” Steve tilted his chin up to kiss Tony again, “I’m gonna make it my job to tell you every day from now on how wonderful and incredible and amazing you are, because you deserve to hear that every…single…day.” He punctuated his last three words with soft kisses that Tony pursued.

“How about I give you another job for now?” Tony said, leaning in to capture his lips with a searing kiss. He slid his hands up into Steve’s long, sandy blond hair and curled his fists, holding the bigger man possessively as they pressed tightly together. Steve moaned in response, dropping his hands to Tony’s waist, his fingers splayed over the brunet’s round, firm ass.

“Fuck, Tony, you’re so pretty,” he whispered roughly, pulling the smaller man’s pelvis snugly against his own, their jeans doing very little to disguise or downplay the fact that they were both achingly hard.

“I don’t really have words for how gorgeous you are,” Tony laughed breathily. He rolled his hips experimentally, and Steve’s head fell back on a choked gasp. “Oh, you like that, huh?” Tony asked with a grin, opening and closing his fists in Steve’s hair, lightly scratching at his scalp.

“Oh, my god, yes,” Steve moaned, encouraging Tony to continue rutting against him. “That feels amazing.”

“It feels even better without all this denim in the way,” he said, ducking down to lick over Steve’s Adam’s apple. He smiled to himself when he heard the bigger man whimper. “What d’ya say, Blondie? Wanna take this to my room and get serious?”

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at Tony with dilated, glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, and slick, swollen lips.

Tony thought he’d never looked more beautiful. “Oh, _hell_ yes,” he growled, kissing the big blond man hard, nipping at his bottom lip, making him gasp. Tony licked into his mouth, reveling in the crushing grip Steve had on his hips.

With no warning, Steve got to his feet, sliding his hands down to palm Tony’s ass and lifting him like he was weightless. “Only room at the end of the hall, big boy,” Tony murmured between kisses, trusting Steve to get them to his room with no accidents.

Steve walked carefully, but with determination, not allowing the urgency he was feeling to make him reckless. He’d never carried anything more valuable than the bundle of adorable brunet that he currently had in his arms, and he wasn’t going to risk walking into a wall or slamming him into a door.

They made it to the master bedroom with no mishaps, and Steve walked straight to the bed, kneeling on the edge of the mattress while still holding Tony close. He slowly lowered the both of them onto the soft, downy surface, stretching out over the smaller man and pressing him down into the duvet.

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony chuckled breathlessly, wriggling slightly to get the larger man settled right where he wanted him, “you have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this.”

Steve braced himself on his forearms, not wanting to crush the genius with his mass. “I’m pretty sure I can,” he grinned, leaning down to brush their lips together.

“I imagined it with less clothing in the way, though, to be honest,” Tony added, his head tipping back slightly as soft lips kissed down the side of his throat.

“Easily remedied,” Steve smiled. He began to work his way down Tony’s chest, pushing the brunet’s signature vintage rock band t-shirt up, when he was suddenly stilled by strong fingers wrapped around his wrist. He looked up at Tony quickly. “No?” he asked, preparing to back off.

“Not _no,_ per se,” Tony responded, “but more like a _I don’t want you to be surprised or shocked or freaked out when you see my chest because it’s kind of a mess and a real mood-killer if you’re—unf!”_

Steve kissed him hard, bringing both hands up to cradle Tony’s face in his palms. “You’re a fighter, a survivor,” he murmured into the miniscule space between them. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Tony poked a finger at one of Steve’s sizeable biceps. “Uh, pretty sure you can bench press at least twenty of me, Spangles, which makes you the room’s strongest man.”

Steve shook his head, a little smile on his face. “The serum made me physically strong; made me hard to injure and quick to heal. Some people would probably say that it also made me proportionally more reckless and less intelligent—“

“Imagine that, Barnes and I actually agree on something.”

Steve huffed a laugh, looking at Tony with what could only be called fondness. “You’ve fought by my side without the advantages the serum gave me. You have your suits, which can protect you from an awful lot, but you still get hurt, and yet that never stops you from putting the suit on again and again to do what you can to help—and that is what makes you even stronger than me.” He kissed him softly. “Your scars are proof of your courage, your strength, and your resilience, which to me is pretty damn sexy.”

He slid his big, warm hand under Tony’s shirt, wrapping it around his side, palming his ribcage. “You can leave your shirt on if you want, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, but I was kind of hoping to kiss you all over.”

“Shirt off, done deal,” Tony quipped, bringing his hands down and quickly peeling it off and tossing it away. Before it even had time to hit the floor, they were kissing again—hungry, demanding, almost violently—and he had attacked the buttons on the front of Steve’s shirt, trying to open them as quickly as possible.

Without even stopping the kiss, Steve held himself up on one arm, using his other hand to tear open his shirt, causing buttons to fly in all directions. He shook it off, one arm at a time, finally flinging it aside in his haste to be rid of it. The undershirt he wore underneath followed quickly, landing in a distant corner of the room.

“Holy shit, that was so fucking hot,” Tony gasped, absently picking up a button from where it had fallen on his stomach and flicking it away. He pulled Steve down, wanting to feel the full weight of him.

Steve lowered himself slowly, savoring the moment their skin came into contact with nothing in between them. He moaned, the sound traveling from deep in his throat, as his head fell forward to rest on Tony’s shoulder. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, “you feel incredible.”

“You haven’t even got your dick in me yet,” he said, nuzzling his cheek against Steve’s hair; he started giggling at the big blond’s surprised choking sound.

“Jesus, Tony,” Steve chuckled, kissing and nibbling at the smaller man’s collarbones.

“He’s not a part of this, I guarantee it.”

“You are such a brat.”

“Want me to shut up?”

“Never.”

Steve pushed himself up onto his knees and divested Tony of his shoes and socks, followed quickly by his own. When Tony reached for the button on his jeans to pop it open, Steve stayed his hand. “Let me? Please?” he asked, curling his fingers around the scraped and knobby knuckles of Tony’s right hand. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

The brunet dropped his hands to the bedspread with a lopsided grin. “I’m all yours, Blondie, so long as I get to unwrap your package in return. It’s not often I get to open a present like you. This is a once-in-a-lifetime-event, really.”

Steve blushed—he actually blushed—and whispered bashfully, “Anything you want, baby. Anything.”

Tony leered, his eyebrows waggling. “_Baby,_ huh? I like that. Is that something that gets your kink-motor running, big guy? Want me to call you sir? How about Daddy?”

“No, no—god, no,” Steve shook his head, his eyes scrunched shut with an embarrassed smile. “Nothing like that, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” Tony assured him. “Well, except maybe the Daddy one. Seeing as how you actually knew him and all—“

“Tony.”

“Yes, Steve?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steve’s head fell forward as he laughed, and then he leaned down to kiss the infuriating man beneath him. As they were both laughing, it was an odd kiss; puffs of air shared between them, teeth and noses bumping as they continued to chuckle. It was one of the best kisses of Tony’s life.

He ran his hands down Steve’s sides, fingertips playing at his muscles and tracing his ribcage, ending at the waist of his jeans. “Lets get these jeans off, shall we?”

He released the button and lowered the zipper in the blink of an eye, then pushed his hands down the sides and around to Steve’s ass, giving the round muscles a meaningful squeeze. “Holy shit,” he moaned, his fingers scrabbling at the boxer briefs Steve wore. “Get these off—all of it. Now.”

“So impatient,” Steve murmured, balancing on one hand to reach for Tony’s pants. The worn, low-slung pants sat loose on Tony’s hips and slid off easily, tossed to the floor. He then kicked his own jeans away, adding them to the denim pile. Not able to wait for another second, Tony lifted his legs and hips and shoved his briefs down and off, flinging them away before attacking the cotton that swathed Steve’s hips. “Oh, honey,” the blond sighed. “You’re gorgeous.”

Tony’s long, lean muscles stretched over his frame, adding firm, sweeping curves to the sharp angles of the brunet’s skeletal structure. His major muscle groups were somewhat bulky, proof of the physical labor he engaged in as part of the privilege of wearing the Iron Man suit. The same sparse, dark hair that dusted his arms and legs was spattered across his chest, though noticeably absent from his sternum; healed scar tissue lacking hair follicles created a smooth circular area covering a slightly uneven breastbone underneath. The thicker, darker trail of hair underneath his navel led down to a very nice-looking erection; it was flushed a deep pink, fluid just beginning to bead at the tip.

“Strip now, ogle later,” he grunted, pushing the boxer briefs down the bigger man’s hips. Within seconds, they were both completely, gloriously naked. The muscles that Tony had only ever dreamt of getting his hands and mouth on were bared to his eyes and they did not disappoint. The man’s thighs were like tree trunks, tapering into the narrow hips and tiny waist that the red, white, and blue uniform (that Tony designed) had clung to, emphasizing the sweetest, firmest, roundest, perkiest ass the older man had ever seen. And his cock—

“Holy shit,” Tony whispered, staring down at Steve’s nude form. “Should I be saluting? I feel like I should be saluting.”

Steve merely shook his head, trying not to laugh.

“How about a pledge?” Tony asked, putting his hand over his heart. “I pledge allegiance—“

“Tony.”

“—to the dick—“

_“Tony.”_

“—_fine,_ to the _penis,_ of the incredibly hung Captain of America.”

“Tony, oh, my god!” Steve barked with laughter. He grabbed Tony’s wrists and gently pinned them on the pillow over his head. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

“I have to do something, Steve! That is, no doubt about it, the most beautiful penis I’ve ever seen. I feel extra patriotic just looking at it.”

“If you start singing ‘God Bless America,’ I’m leaving.”

“I wouldn’t torture you with my singing,” Tony smirked, “but I’ve been told that my mouth is very good at other things.”

Steve rubbed his thumbs tenderly over Tony’s pulse points. “Like what?” he murmured, a soft smile curling his lips.

“Roll over and I’ll show ya,” Tony grinned.

Steve released his wrists and tipped over to the side, gracefully rolling onto his back. Tony sat up and moved to kneel between the bigger man’s knees, a worshipful expression on his face. “Christ, look at you.”

Tony had imagined, dreamed, fantasized about this moment; Steve Rogers was literally the most beautiful man Tony had ever seen. It wasn’t that Steve—or even _Captain America_—had been his bisexual awakening (there had been far too much bitterness due to Howard’s hero-worship for that to have occurred), but even during Tony’s rebellious youth he’d had to admit to himself that Steve Rogers was one hell of a good-looking man.

His peach-gold skin glowed in the soft lamplight, the fine blond hair that dusted his arms and legs glittered bright white. The muscles were simply beyond description. Tony ran his hands up Steve’s thighs, digging his fingertips in as he dragged them back down; thick quads flexed under his hands.

What Tony couldn’t stop staring at, salivating for, though…. All jokes aside, Steve had the most amazing cock he’d ever seen. Long, thick, and uncut; it was a delicate shade of pink that darkened as it reached the tip—a tip that flared as it pushed past its foreskin, the slit already pearling with clear fluid. He sighed, thanking whatever higher deity had given them this moment in time together.

“I’m all yours, sweetheart,” Steve smiled, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it under his head, then letting his arms fall open to his sides.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” Tony leered, waggling his eyebrows as he leaned forward, “because I plan on enjoying this for a while.”

“Take all the time you wa—oh, fuck, _Tony!”_

With an amount of suction that left Steve speechless, Tony had completely engulfed his shaft, nearly down to the fine, soft curls at its base; pulling back off slowly as Steve groaned and clenched his fists in the duvet. He glanced up as he pulled off, enjoying the look of disbelief on Steve’s face. “No gag reflex,” Tony smirked.

“Holy hell,” Steve breathed.

“Just lay back and enjoy, gorgeous.”

For the next ten minutes, Tony quite literally blew Steve’s mind. He sucked, licked, nibbled, and teased at every ridge and vein of the thick shaft, listening to Steve’s gasps and moans and even the occasional high-pitched whimper as the bigger man curled his fists into the sheets and lightly petted Tony’s head. Finally, Steve began to tug lightly at Tony’s hair.

“Tony—Tony, pull off—I’m gonna come.”

The brunet popped off, still pumping lightly with his right hand, and looked up at the big blond, who was breathing heavily. “Is that a problem?” he asked.

“More like a warning,” Steve said sheepishly. “It’s been a while since I, uh….”

“Popped your cork?”

The blond man laughed. “Yeah. You just feel so good; I know the first time isn’t going to take long at all.”

“How many times can you go?”

“Three, usually,” Steve replied, panting and smiling dopily at Tony’s wide-eyed expression. “I mean, I can go more, but it gets pretty sensitive after three.”

“Jesus,” Tony chuckled. “Just letting you know right now that I’m definitely good for one—maybe two, tops—but that second one will take a while.”

“We’ve got all night, sugar,” Steve drawled, a grin stretching across his face.

Tony shook his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. “So Brooklyn.”

He crawled up Steve’s body and reached over to the bedside nightstand; opening the top drawer, he pulled out a mostly full bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. “Normally I like the mess,” he said, sitting back to straddle Steve’s thighs and dropping both items on the bed beside them, “but it’s been a while since I bottomed. You’re a very big boy and this will help the glide.”

Steve practically choked on his own saliva. “You want me to—to top you?”

“Absolutely,” Tony purred, taking the lube and popping the top open with a muted click. He poured a nice amount into his palm before closing the bottle and setting it down, letting the liquid warm slightly. “Let’s take the edge off first, so you can last once you’re in me, okay?”

He wrapped his slick palm around Steve’s still-rock-hard cock and started stroking, this time with intent.

Steve nodded frantically, his head falling back with a moan. Within seconds his thighs were flexing and his hips began to roll as much as Tony’s weight would allow.

Tony grinned, his nose scrunching slightly. “Is that good?” he asked. “You like that?”

“Little tighter,” Steve gritted out. “I’m close.”

Tony’s grip increased in pressure and he swept his thumb over the slit, watching as the head of Steve’s cock swelled even further, flushing a dark red.

“Oh, fuck, Tony,” Steve gasped, “that’s perfect, don’t stop, please don’t stop, oh, oh, fuck, fu-_ungh!” _White stripes painted Steve’s abdomen and chest, proving his assertion that it had, indeed, been a while since he’d found release.

“There ya go,” Tony murmured soothingly, jacking him all the way through his orgasm. He noted with hunger that Steve’s erection wasn’t waning in the slightest, even after he was finished making a mess all over himself. Once Steve winced with sensitivity, Tony gently released him and stood, patting his thigh. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Steve’s right arm was flung over his face, his left lay limp on the bed. “Mmmm,” he hummed, slowly melting into the bedspread. Tony grinned smugly as he walked into the en suite to wash his hands and grab a face cloth. He wet it with warm water and made his way back out into the bedroom.

“Let’s clean you up a little,” Tony said softly, carefully wiping down the bigger man’s torso. Steve’s arm flopped over to the side and he looked up at Tony with glassy eyes. “Hi, there,” the brunet murmured.

“Hey,” Steve exhaled, his lips curling up at the edges. “That was…” he sighed contentedly, “…really great.”

“Feel a little less like you’re about to explode?” Tony smiled, walking to the bathroom and tossing the washcloth into a laundry basket.

Steve waited until Tony had come back to bed to answer; he grabbed the smaller man’s arms and tugged him forward, catching him and rolling them both over so that he now hovered above the genius. “Feel like I want to kiss every inch of you, from top to bottom and back up again.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Tony smiled.

Steve leaned down to kiss him. Then he kissed him some more. And then he made good on his word to kiss every inch of Tony’s body. He’d dreamed of this for years and he was determined to make the most of it; he took his time, learning every spot that made Tony twitch, squirm, sigh, and moan. By the time he’d made his way down to Tony’s waist, the brunet’s hands were buried in his own hair, pulling steadily.

“Fuck, Steve,” he groaned shakily, his head tipping back.

“Soon,” the blond grinned. He bent to kiss along his A-belt and then hooked his hands under Tony’s knees. “That okay?”

“Very,” Tony exhaled, wide-eyed.

Steve pushed Tony’s knees up to his shoulders, opening him up to his hungry gaze. “I wanna be so good to you,” he whispered.

“We can be good to each other,” Tony said softly.

Steve smiled at him, his big blue eyes sparkling in the low light of the room.

“Deal.”

***

Tony knew that sex wasn’t going to solve all the problems stretched out between them, but at least they could have that one night to lay their feeling bare, to just be together with nothing else coming between them and forcing them apart.

They fell into each other, soft touches and warm breath shared in the space they’d created for themselves; gentle and slow, until it wasn’t. They held out as long as they could, enjoying the push and pull and drag and slide as much as possible.

Far too soon, though, sensation won out. Unhurried movements became harder and faster, pushing the air from their lungs in whimpers and moans. Hands grasped, fingers curled into muscle, and teeth nipped at bruised and trembling flesh. Words flowed through bitten lips, softly spoken and pressed into sweat-slick skin.

When they finally stilled, clutching each other and breathing heavily, their tired smiles said more than words ever could.

***

Steve lay on his left side, trailing his fingers of his right hand over the slightly scarred and uneven surface of Tony’s sternum. Thanks to Helen Cho and her regeneration cradle, the scar tissue was nowhere near as bad as it could have been; multiple reconstructive surgeries to replace and repair sections of his breastbone had left their mark, though.

“I know the arc reactor wasn’t good for you,” Steve murmured, leaning down to kiss right over Tony’s heart, “but I have to admit, I loved seeing that pretty blue light every time you walked into the room.”

“You did?” Tony asked, surprised. He raised his hand to comb his fingers through Steve’s hair. He had to say, the longer hair and beard suited him—in a rough-and-tumble, bad boy lumberjack kind of way. It was definitely doing it for him.

“I did,” Steve smiled. “It was like a beacon, drawing me to you. Every time I saw it, through your t-shirt, I knew you were safe.”

“Maybe I’ll just make a bunch of shirts with that blue light on it,” Tony joked. “I’ll wear them around at night so you can find me.”

“You laugh, but I know I’d smile every time I saw you wearing them,” Steve grinned at him.

“I could even make it functional,” Tony mused, his brain picking up on the idea and running with it. “Create a compartment, fill it with nanobots that I could program to—“

“Okay, genius man,” Steve smiled, slowly shifting back to lie between the smaller man’s thighs. “Kiss now, invent later.”

“I can do both, you know,” Tony grinned, picking his knees up to squeeze the bigger man’s hips. “I’m very good at multitasking.”

“Let’s see if we can figure out something else to do,” Steve smirked, ducking down to take Tony’s bottom lip between his own. He nipped at it, just grazing it with his teeth.

“I hear strategy is your strong suit,” Tony responded, his pupils dilating rapidly.

“I hear ingenuity is yours.”

“I can be very creative with the proper motivation.”

“I think I can work with that.”

***

Several hours later, they sat together on the couch, watching the same flames that had been flickering earlier; this time, however, they sat snuggled together, eating grapes and apples, small pieces of cheese and grilled chicken, sipping juice and water. They had napped and showered and afterward had dressed only in loose lounge pants and soft t-shirts to retrieve sustenance.

They talked quietly, laughing softly together and kissing often, avoiding any mention of the Avengers or Secretary of State Ross, or anything outside of the walls that made up Tony’s Malibu home. It was a serene bubble, the two of them isolated from the rest of the world, finally connecting.

Which is why, of course, it was the moment that Steve’s cell phone began to ring.

They both looked around in confusion before Tony started digging through the couch cushions, pulling the phone out when it was on its fourth ring. He handed it to Steve, who looked at the contact information. “It’s Nat,” he said, his voice rough. He looked at Tony with a furrowed brow. “She wouldn’t have called unless it was important.”

Tony smiled, a little sadly. “Go on,” he said, moving slightly so that Steve could get up.

Steve gave him a kiss on the temple, already moving to stand. He held the phone up to his ear. “Yeah, Nat? What’s up?”

He listened quietly for less than half a minute, standing stock still, before he said, “I understand. When can you be here?”

Whatever she said, it must have been a lot sooner than Steve was expecting, because he turned to look at Tony with a mournful expression. “Got it. See you in a few.”

Tony got to his feet as Steve hung up. “Well, that was fun while it lasted,” he quipped bitterly, walking into the kitchen with their dishes in his hands. He put them into the sink with a gentle clatter.

Suddenly Steve was right behind him, his arms wrapped tightly around Tony’s waist. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered roughly into the back of Tony’s head. The dark curls tickled his mouth and chin as he spoke. “They’ve found weapons, Chitauri-based weapons, that are being sold on the black market in the Middle East.”

“Shit,” Tony murmured, his eyes sliding shut.

“We have to get rid of them.” Steve turned him around, still holding him close. “I don’t want to go,” he repeated, “and if you’ll let me, I want to come back when this mission is done. We still have a lot to say to each other.”

“You still want to talk?” Tony asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“I told you,” he replied. “I’m making it my job to tell you how amazing you are every day. I take my job seriously.”

Tony looked Steve in the eye for a solid four seconds before reaching up to cup the blond man’s scruffy cheeks and pull him down into a hard, demanding kiss. “Tell me why you came here,” he mumbled against Steve’s lips.

“I love you, sweetheart. So fuckin’ much.”

Tony huffed a laugh. “I know you wouldn’t swear if you didn’t mean it,” he said. Pulling back, he rested their foreheads together. “I love you, too,” he whispered.

Steve squeezed him as tightly as he could without hurting him, wondering if the smaller man could feel the pounding of his heart. He wished they could stay in this moment, this one handful of perfect seconds—

“When is Nat getting here?”

“She’s already outside.”

Tony’s head fell back as he shook his head. “Of course, she is.”

Steve cupped his cheeks in his big, warm hands. “Can I come back?” he asked, looking equal parts hopeful and terrified.

Tony swallowed hard, willing his heart to slow down, just a little. “Call me,” he said, “when you’re done with the mission. Call me, and we’ll figure something out.”

“You still have that phone I sent you?”

Tony made a derogatory sound. “That piece of crap? Yes, I still have it, even though I would die of embarrassment if anyone ever saw it in my possession.”

“I’ll call you when I can,” Steve murmured. “If you need me, I hope you’ll do the same.”

The brunet nodded. “I will.”

A smile stretched shakily across Steve’s face. “I’m holding you to that.”

Five minutes later, Tony watched from the doorway as Steve got into a black Corvette. Steve turned to look at him one last time with a little smile before shutting the passenger’s side door, the car immediately pulling around the circular drive and heading back out to the PCH. He stood there until the car was completely out of sight before he shut the door and walked back into the living room.

Sitting down on the couch, he looked into the fire for a few minutes before calling out. “FRIDAY? Can you get Rhodey on the line?”

“No problem, Boss,” The A.I. responded.

A few seconds later, his friend’s voice echoed through the room. “Tones? You okay?”

Tony thought about it, taking perhaps a little too long to answer, if Rhodey asking again if he was alright was any indication. “Yeah, Platypus,” he finally replied. “I’m, uh…I’m fine, actually.”

“Did everything work out the way you hoped?”

Tony dropped his head back to rest on the cushion behind him. “Y’know, I think it did.” He then stood up and began walking toward the stairs leading down to his workshop. “So what are you up to? Ready to bring my plane back out to the Golden State?”

“Miss me already, do ya, Tones?”

“Always, Sourpatch. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Now I'll get back to my other stories. I promise. I had to switch anxiety meds due to unforeseen side effects (sleeping 15 hours a day isn't normal?) and now I'm making good progress on the sequel to "So Alive" (1/3 is completely ready to go) and I hope to start posting soon.
> 
> Feels good to be back, even if I'm posting something you weren't expecting.
> 
> See you all soon!
> 
> <3


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